Mockingbird
by Eliss Elusive
Summary: You have no feelings. You have no soul. You are an assassin trained to kill without the slightest bit of remorse. But even cold-blooded killers have stories. Of when they were loved. Of when they were taken. Of everything they lost. Cowritten.
1. Chapter 1

**Mockingbird**  
><strong>Cowritten by Noverael Parabatai and Eliss Elusive<strong>

Prologue

She brushed her fingers across her sleeping son's forehead, sighing as he struggled against some unseen enemy. Since he'd been only a few years old, he'd never been able to sleep through the night. She remembered the first time he'd woken her up in the early hours of the morning, asking if he could spend the night with her. At the time, she'd expected it never to happen again – at least, she'd expected it to be some phase he outgrew.

Four years later, she was sitting at the side of his bed, having been woken moments ago by his screams. He never told her what he dreamed about, and she never asked. "No…no…" he whispered, his thin limbs lashing out. "I don't want to go with you! Leave me alone!" And then he let out a scream so piercing that she had to cover her ears.

"Damn kid," she muttered, shaking him awake. "Luke, come on. It's just a dream. Mommy's here. Mommy will protect you."

Her son shot up, gasping for air. His eyes were bloodshot, and a thin layer of sweat covered his skin. "I...he…it's…" he said in between breaths. His tiny form was shaking. He grabbed a pillow and hugged it to his chest, rocking back and forth.

"It was just a dream, honey," she said, repeating the same words she told him every night. "You can go back to sleep."

"Will you stay here?" Luke asked, his angelic blue eyes pleading with her. "Just until I fall asleep again?"

"Of course." She tried to keep the irritation out of her voice. "Mommy will stay right here, love."

Her son fell back onto his pillows and pulled the blankets up to his chest. In a few minutes, the familiar twisting and turning started, reassuring her that her son was asleep. She readjusted his pillows and kissed his forehead before exiting the room.

Looking at her son from the hallway, a realization dawned on her.

_She didn't love her son. In fact…_

_…she hated him._

So when they came for him - burly men with gruff voices and large amounts of cash - she was more than willing to direct them up the stairs to her son's bedroom.

She turned the TV on and watched some soap opera, ignoring the sounds of her son's screams and pleas. "Mom, help me! Mom! Mom! MOM!"

May turned up the TV, waiting until she heard the click of the front door.

Well, at least that was taken care of.

* * *

><p>In another life, he might have been exhausted after not having slept in four days. The muscles in his legs would probably have felt cramped after not being stretched for hours. And possibly, just maybe, he would have felt guilty for what he was about to do.<p>

But then again, in another life, he probably wouldn't have been assigned to kill this kid.

Luke didn't have a problem with killing - he'd done it before, and this would undoubtedly be far from the last time. As always, he'd been given a picture, a location, and the orders to do his job quickly and as cleanly as possible.

He adjusted his position slightly - far from an easy feat when he was perched on a narrow branch on a tree. Predictably, he felt twinges of pain, but they didn't affect him. He hadn't felt _true _pain in years. What he felt now was, well...a long story.

His eyelids began to droop. Even people like him needed to sleep, but he refused to do so now. Not when he was so close. Sleep brought dreams, and dreams brought everything he was mercifully able to forget during consciousness.

But in the end, sleep inevitably took him.

In his dreams he would relive all the horrors he'd been forced to endure at the hands of men whose faces he'd never even seen; whose names he'd never learned. Men who'd tortured him mercilessly for reasons Luke hadn't understood.

_The chains binding his hands to the wall were cold and hard, and with every movement they would cut deeper into his wrists. But still Luke thrashed, trying in vain to fight off the masked men who beat at him unforgivingly, their whips snapping loudly over and over again. But Luke refused to plea for mercy; he wouldn't give them that satisfaction._

_Already Luke was drenched in blood, which flowed freely from the gashes crisscrossing his body, and he knew the session was far from over. And when finally Luke's body went numb, his torturers brought in a man wearing long, flowing robes, his face hidden under a low-hanging cowl. The man chanted and made intricate gestures with his hands, and Luke was overcome with relief. His torn skin flowed back together, the cuts and bruises repairing themselves as Luke watched with a detached sense of interest. _

_But when he was healed, the torture just started anew. Luke's masked torturers made sure he never got bored of their sessions by adding a healthy amount of variety to their methods. They always had some new toy to try out on him._

_Some days they didn't torture Luke with their cruel toys, though, and those days were far worse. On those days Luke was dragged into the same large room, but instead of being chained to the wall his chains were looped through a hook on the ceiling, and raised until Luke was dangling limply, his feet barely touching the floor._

_Several men filed into the room then-somewhere around a dozen-all naked aside from the black executioner-style masks they never seemed to take off. They stared lustily at Luke's naked body-Luke was never allowed to wear clothes in that place. He had been stripped the day they'd taken him and so he had remained through all the months of his imprisonment-and formed a line, each one - roughly - having their way with him before letting the next take his place. _

_The pain may not have been as bad as when they tortured him, but Luke despised those days more than any other. The complete lack of power, the inability to do anything to stop them-the absolute helplessness of being _violated _against his will..._

_...Luke wished they would just kill him instead, at times. But even through that he held some hope; and at least some will to survive. _

_The final blow; the one that broke even his will to live, had come much later, months after he'd been taken. One day the beatings had stopped early, and Luke had been left alone, chained to the wall and covered in bloody gashes from his torturers' knives._

_After a few minutes the door opened, and in walked a man dressed in a stylish black suit, his hair a dark mess of waves and soft curls—but what stood out to Luke most was that he wore no mask._

_The man glanced at Luke with a predatory glint in his hard eyes – something about those cold, grey eyes caused a chill to creep up Luke's spine – before turning to close the door, locking it with a loud click—_

—Luke woke with a start, nearly losing his already precarious perch on the narrow branch. Just like that, all the emotion he'd felt in the dream was gone. He was filled, once again, with the cold apathy he'd grown so accustomed to. The only thing that mattered was his mission.

Luke checked the position of the sun - it was close to sunset, meaning he'd slept for almost seven hours; More than enough for him to function on for at least another twenty-four hours.

Luke gathered himself up and dropped down from his perch in the tree, landing lightly and soundlessly, already alert and on edge; prepared for anything. He crept silently through the close-knit trees, moving toward the great - but far from empty - clearing he'd seen from his tree. There, he would find his target and then, he would complete his mission. It was simple - easy, even; maybe _too _easy.

From what Luke had seen there didn't seem to be anything to stop him. No security, no wall, not even a fence, which would have been better than nothing, at the very least. It seemed suspicious, he thought. He took a cursory look around, wondering idly if there had been some mistake-but no, this was the place. The coordinates he'd been given had led him here, so it had to be where Kronos wanted him.

Luke jerked to a stop, instantly going alert. He was on the perimeter of the clearing, which was filled with buildings of Ancient Greek design-but he'd heard something; someone was moving towards him.

Luke didn't hesitate. He moved back into the shadows of the trees, drawing his sword without a sound. He waited, unmoving, as a girl came into his line of sight. She wore strange leather armor and had a sword sheathed at her hip. This must be one of the demigod camps, Luke thought idly; that would make his task a bit more difficult; but he was confident he could handle it.

The girl must be on patrol, Luke reasoned; that didn't mean she had to die. Not that he cared either way. But his orders were to be quick and clean, no one but his target needed to die so long as they didn't get in his way.

But then, just as the girl was about to pass him, Luke felt a strange pressure building in the back of his head. He suddenly felt dizzy and his vision began to blur. His body went limp and he was vaguely aware of a falling sensation, but before he could hit the ground his world exploded in a shower of white.

_Everything was happening too fast. He saw his mother crying, planes crashing into a tower, blood-soaked people screaming - just one vision after the next, each worse than those following it. When he thought his head might explode, a dark-haired girl appeared in front of him. She looked a little younger than him - probably sixteen at the most. He reached out to grab her, but, predictably, his hand went right through her. She winked at him. "Come on, Luke. You know it doesn't work that way. Now are you going to help me or not?"_

And just like that Luke was back on the forest floor, feeling lost and disoriented. Someone was kneeling over him, asking him something-Luke couldn't make sense of it. Looking up, he saw the blonde girl he'd seen patrolling and suddenly he was overcome with an uncontrollable urge.

"Hey, are you okay? You were shouting," the girl said, holding out her hand.

Not understanding what he was doing or why he was doing it, he grabbed her arm and pierced his teeth into the soft flesh of her forearm. Immediately, the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth and he released her. The girl backed away, a scared look in her eyes.

And then Luke let out a scream so piercing it was questionable that there was anyone at the camp who hadn't heard it.

_Blood. Whips. Screaming. Worthless. Chains. Failure. Rape. Swords. Knives. Humiliation. _Every negative emotion he'd ever felt - that he'd been able to ignore except in his dreams - came rushing through him. Banished memories flashed through his mind, one after the other until they all blurred together.

And Luke felt the pain. There was no detached numbness - everything felt just as real, just as painful, as it had when he'd first experienced it. And in the turmoil of his mind, he realized that maybe the stone cold apathy he was accustomed to maybe was...a _blessing_.

He was vaguely aware of another boy - the boy with dark hair and sea green eyes he'd seen in the picture he'd been given - kneeling next to the other girl, asking what was wrong and if she was alright. He also had a sword, which he nervously drew, eyeing Luke warily.

Through the pain he was feeling, Luke managed to stand shakily and draw his own sword. "I'm...you're...I'm supposed to kill you," he said in a voice quavering with unfamiliar emotion.

Luke raised his sword, watching as fear flashed through the boy's eyes. He knew he could probably still kill him, or at least cause quite a bit of damage. But there were more important things on his agenda.

He plunged his sword down, through his own stomach, gasping at the unexpected pain. If he'd been thinking logically, he would have gone for the heart - stomach wounds were slow and painful, and something told him he didn't have a lot of time. With a sharp twist, he pulled the sword out.

_Is all that blood really mine? _Luke remembered thinking before falling to his knees.

Everything went black.

_Author's note [Eliss]: So my lovely cowriter decided I got to be the lucky one to post this. (: I thanks him much. Don't forget to send him some love when you review, darlings. (:_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter One**

_There was an air of finality in the click of the lock. Dread - something Luke hadn't thought he was even capable of feeling anymore, welled up in his chest. And then Luke was face to face with the mysterious, unmasked man. _

_He just stood in front of Luke, staring silently. Luke got the feeling he was waiting for something; what it might be, Luke didn't know. _

_Finally, after several long moments, moments of the unnerving silence, he let out a disapproving 'tsk'. "You're an unusual case, Mr. Castellan," he said, voice betraying little emotion. "Most subjects don't last half as long as you have."_

_"W-who are you?" Luke rasped, voice cracking unevenly; his throat dry and raw._

_"Now, now, Mr. Castellan, you're hardly in any position to be asking questions." There was a teasing edge to Luke's mysterious visitor's voice. "I, however, can ask you as many questions as I like, and you have no choice but to answer."_

_Luke managed an almost-defiant laugh. "If you think that, you obviously don't know anything about me." Luke had long since given up on being released-or saved, for that matter, but regardless of that he refused to give in to his captors. Defiance was all he had left. His captors didn't want to kill him, he knew; if they had they would have done so already. And it didn't seem to make a difference what he said or did, so he figured the best thing he could do was stay strong and resistant; not giving his captors the pleasure of seeing him broken. _

_"Oh, I know all about you, _Luke,_" came the calm response. "What I don't know, is why you insist on being so difficult." He paused, glancing over Luke, taking in the still-slowly-bleeding cuts and slashes covering his naked body. "Does it give you satisfaction_—_being abused?" A small, malicious smile spread across his lips at the question, and he took a few steps closer to Luke, placing a cold hand on his shoulder, gripping him, holding him steady. "I wonder..." he said, frowning thoughtfully, "just what are the limits to your tolerance for pain?"_

_And with that his other hand came around, hard, smashing into Luke's stomach with bruising force. The air was forcefully knocked from Luke's lungs, but he'd taken much worse at the hands of his captors; he didn't so much as groan, opting instead to take deep, slow breaths; letting the pain drift away._

_"Ah, so you think you're tough, do you, boy?" He chuckled mirthlessly, eyes glinting coldly. "Let's see just how tough, shall we?" This time his hand was glowing - crackling with electric energy. _

_It hurt much more this time. Shocking pain shot out across Luke's body; inside him, traveling through his bones, popping his joints painfully and wracking his muscles spasmodically. Luke bit down on his tongue to keep from screaming. He felt blood gush into his mouth but he didn't care. He wouldn't give in._  
><em>When the painful, spasmodic shocks finally stopped, Luke slumped in his chains, gasping for breath. <em>

_His captor only made a small 'hm' sound, before grabbing Luke's chin roughly, forcing his face up so that he was looking into the man's cold, grey eyes. With his free hand Luke's captor reached into his pocket, pulling out a small golden coin. He held Luke firmly in place while he muttered something under his breath, then he tilted Luke's head further back and placed the coin on his forehead. _

_At fi__rst, Luke felt nothing. Then, with no warning, there was white hot pain overwhelming his senses. Pain_—_pure, white, overwhelming pain, radiated from the coin in waves. Luke couldn't hold back his scream this time; he shook and jerked but the man's hands held his head firmly, keeping the coin in its place. Luke didn't know how much of this he could take. It wasn't like when his masked captors beat him; that was nothing compared to this_—_this pain was inescapable. It was there, inside him, filling his very being with its white hot burn._

_Finally, just when Luke thought he was about to pass out, the pain cut off. He slumped down against the wall, his hands chained above his head the only thing holding him up. He was allowed to stay like that for a few seconds before his face was forced up again; the cold grey eyes of his captor were lit with sick amusement._

_"Still think you're tough, boy?"_

_Luke spat at his feet. _

_The man's face twisted with rage, and Luke immediately knew he'd taken his defiance a step too far. His captor pulled a dagger from concealment at his ankle and muttered a few words. The weapon burned white-hot, crackling with the same electric energy he'd used before._

_"I don't get it," he said, knotting one hand in Luke's hair and pulling his head back, before tracing the sharp edge of the dagger lightly across the soft flesh of his throat. Luke gritted his teeth, tears already welling in his eyes as red-hot pain coursed through his body - he dreaded what an actual wound from this dagger would feel like._

_"So explain something to me, Mr. Castellan." He rammed Luke's head against the wall before releasing his grip. The man smirked in satisfaction as Luke whimpered and tried to curl around himself - of course, the chains made that impossible. "No one's ever loved you. Your mother, well, you could even say that she _hated _you. Yet you insist upon-"_

_"My mother loved me!" Luke shouted. True, she'd been drunk a lot of the time, and she never seemed to hesitate when it came to telling Luke what a bother he was, but if she didn't care about him..._

_"I've seen hundreds of half-bloods like you," his captor hissed. Luke didn't understand what he meant by 'half-blood.' "It's not your fault, Mr. Castellan. Well, in a way, I suppose it is. Your father probably loved your mother for a few passing moments - just long enough to get her pregnant, and unfortunately, make her fall madly in love with him. And then you came along, and he did what they always do - run. And your mother was left with you, a painful reminder of everything."_

_Luke opened his mouth to argue, but the man chose that moment to use his knife to make a slash across Luke's chest. It was shallower than the others he'd previously received from his masked torturers, but it made him scream and tug against his chains as inescapable pain flooded his body. _

_His captor again knotted his hand in Luke's hair, forcing him to meet his eyes. "Would you still defend her if you knew she was the one who sold you?" he said in a dangerously low voice. "That's right - my men came and offered her a bit of money, hardly anything really, and she gave you to us. And you know what my men said? She didn't even have to think about it - she probably would have given you to us for nothing."_

_When Luke tried to argue, the man continued. "She was right there. Why didn't she hear you screaming? Why didn't she call the police? She never wanted you, Luke."_

_He took his knife and started cutting right below Luke's eye, slowly making a deep gash all the way down to his jaw. It felt like forever to Luke, but in reality, it was probably no more than a few seconds. The pain continued to radiate from his face to the rest of his body well afterwards, but Luke felt himself start to...detach from it. It was different from numbness - Luke knew he was still in pain, he just couldn't, well, feel it._

_The man smirked and slashed his dagger across Luke's chest a few times. Luke barely reacted. "Well, Mr. Castellan, perhaps you were closer to giving up than we thought."_

_Luke didn't say anything. He couldn't bring himself to care._

* * *

><p>Percy rubbed his arms, wishing for the millionth time that he'd thought to bring a sweatshirt. It was sweltering on the surface, but hundreds of feet underground, there was a permanent chill that seemed to sink into his very bones.<p>

He hadn't even known this place existed, but when he'd explained the situation to Chiron, the centaur had calmly shown Percy a door in the main house that he'd always assumed had led to a closet or a bedroom. But when Chiron opened it, a set of stairs that went down straight into the earth were revealed.

"We've built an area like this at every camp we've ever built. I had hoped we'd never have to use this one, but..." Percy had waited for him to finish, but Chiron seemed content to let the thought hang. "Just be careful, Percy."

Percy had hoped that whoever the person was who'd managed to break into their camp would die and let that be the end of that, but he'd seen it with his own eyes - the way the hole in his stomach had just healed. The only evidence that it had ever existed was the still-wet blood covering the stranger and his sword.

Percy looked through the cracks of the door into the cramped cell, making sure that he hadn't woken up yet. This person couldn't be any older than seventeen, yet he'd had this look in his eyes - like he'd been through too much and was one step away from falling apart. Even in his sleep he restlessly twitched and mumbled under his breath, occasionally crying out.

Annabeth had objected to them locking him up. "He's hurt. Gods, Percy - he tried to _kill _himself," she'd protested.

"Yeah, he was hurt. And then two seconds later he wasn't. The wound on his stomach just disappeared, but he's somehow got a scar on his face. Explain that, Annabeth."

Annabeth hadn't been able to.

Percy looked into the cell again, taking a deep breath before unlocking and opening the door. The inside of the cell was even colder. Percy resisted the urge to hug his arms to his chest and made his way across the room. The prisoner (Percy guessed that was what the strange man was now; a prisoner) was chained to the far wall; hanging limply in his unconsciousness.

Percy was supposed to interrogate him. Find out what he was doing there; who-or _what_-he was; why he'd tried to kill himself; and most importantly, why he'd said he was supposed to kill Percy.

_"I'm...you're...I'm supposed to kill you."_

Percy shuddered at the memory and nervously grabbed the hilt of his sword.

He almost lost his nerve and left, but as soon as he turned his back, he heard the clinking of chains. Drawing his sword. he turned to face the man.

The prisoner's eyes were dull, almost glazed over. His skin was a chalky white, which made the deep scar on his face stand out. But what unnerved Percy the most was the way he seemed to look right through him, as if he wasn't even there.

"Who are you?" The man showed no sign of acknowledgment. "Why did you come here?"

The seconds passed by painfully slowly. "To kill you," the prisoner finally said flatly.

"Why?"

"I was ordered to." The faintest trace of a smile brushed across his face. Percy was sure it was a trick of the light.

"So if you were ordered to kill me, why did you try to...kill yourself?"

The prisoner didn't answer, his eyes narrowing slightly; but for the most part his face remained blank, giving away no hint of emotion.

Percy continued asking questions, but the prisoner refused to answer anything after that. He just glared silently from his chains, barely acknowledging Percy's presence aside from the glare. Percy gave up and left after a few minutes of that, deciding another night in the cell would do more towards getting the prisoner to talk.

* * *

><p><em>The girl with electric blue eyes was back. She was running from something-Luke couldn't see what, but he could <em>feel_ her fear; her desire to escape. Without warning, the girl stopped. She looked directly at Luke, her eyes pleading, and suddenly, she was gone. In her place stood a tall green pine tree._

Luke woke with a start, momentary confusion dulling his senses. He was seeing things again, he realized - something that hadn't happened in years. Luke closed his eyes a took a deep breath, the image of the girl morphing into a tree flashing behind his eyelids.

As his mind cleared, Luke became aware of another presence in his cell. It was the blonde girl. Her forearm was wrapped in bandages; she quickly tugged the sleeve of her sweater down when she saw him looking.

She stared at him, a mixture of confusion and curiosity in her gray eyes. Luke met her gaze, but found himself looking away. Something about this girl, something he didn't understand...she was making him _feel_.

"I'm Annabeth," she said finally. "That was Percy before. He's, well, he's scared of you."

"That's probably smart, since I did tell him I was supposed to kill him." He hesitated before going on. "I'm Luke."

Annabeth bit her lip, debating something. "How did you...I mean why did you...how come you...?"

"I don't know." Luke found the words pouring out. "I haven't felt anything in years. Not since...but you...I don't know. There are some things that it's better not to feel - that you wish you could just forget. You know?"

"Why did you say you're supposed to kill Percy?" Annabeth asked softly, after a brief moment's silence.

"I…" Luke hesitated. He knew he shouldn't tell her anything, but something about her made it seem so easy—Luke couldn't explain it. "It's not important."

"Of course it's important!" Annabeth snapped. "Percy is my friend; if someone wants him dead, I need to know why."

Luke didn't say anything. He couldn't. If these people found out what he was, Luke didn't think they'd hesitate to find a way to kill him. And no matter how strange this Annabeth girl made him feel, no matter how much he wanted to tell her—to tell a_nyone_, really—the price just wasn't worth it. And, of course, there was what Luke's master would do if he told anyone. If Annabeth and her friends didn't kill him first, Kronos certainly would make him wish they had.

And even if he'd tried to kill himself, Luke was certain he didn't want to die yet.

"Are you going to tell me anything or not?" Annabeth asked in exasperation. "Well?" she said, irritation creeping into her voice.

"I—I can't tell you," Luke conceded – telling himself that was all he would say about it.

"And just why not?"

"It… it's complicated."

"Yeah, well "complicated" isn't going to cut it."

Luke didn't respond. He wasn't going to tell Annabeth anything—he couldn't. Not even if he'd wanted to.

Annabeth just stood there with her arms crossed, waiting expectantly for Luke to tell all. But Luke wasn't talking. Finally she gave up with a disappointed sigh. "Fine, don't talk." She turned and left the room. Luke heard her voice in the hall a moment later; saying something to one of the guards. "Don't let anyone see him for a few days. He's just confused." And with that, the heavy metal doors slammed shut with a loud clang.

Luke just sighed, accepting the fact that the next few days would be painfully boring; already he could feel the familiar apathy creeping back. With any luck he would be back to his cold, emotionless self in a few short hours. The thought was comforting.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Two**

Damien pursed his lips and watched the boy fade from consciousness before retreating from the small room. He didn't like being so directly involved in the breaking of his subjects - especially ones who had proven to be so difficult as Luke Castellan.

The man he'd summoned before was waiting for him. To anyone else, he looked like a twenty-something student, the only hint that he was anything other than ordinary being his eyes, colored like molten gold and incredibly piercing. But Damien could see beyond the man's exterior, see the tendrils of darkness that lurked within. The darkness he had placed there.

"Mr. Kiano." His voice was cold. "You told me you had something that would be of interest to me."

Damien tried not to wither under the man's gaze. "I just finished with him. He was here for...oh, ten months." The fact didn't seem to impress the other man. "Most people barely last a few weeks," he added. "His soul is going to be screaming to get out of his body."

"The last three you've sold me haven't held up."

Damien ground his teeth. "Yes, but this one is _different_. Listen, if you're worried about him, I'll...tell you what, I'll give you a trial period. If he's not what you want, just return him and we'll keep trying to find someone."

The man narrowed his eyes. "Fine. Is he ready?"

"I just need to do the procedure. Then he's yours. Just help me get him to my room."

He opened the door for the other man before entering himself. The subject of their conversation was twisting in his sleep, trying to escape some unseen enemy. "Yes, this one's always had nightmares. Of course, that won't affect him once I've taken his soul out. Just wake him up and he'll be fine."

The man seemed reluctant to touch their prisoner's bloody unconscious form, and Damien had to admit that he shared the feeling. Ever since he'd been able to procure men to work under him, he'd developed a distaste for dirtying his own hands.

They dragged Luke through the halls before coming to a dead end. Damien pressed a hand against the hard rock and muttered a few words. The entire wall glowed with energy for a few seconds before a door formed.

Damien was secretive about what he did. First off, he knew it was undoubtedly frowned upon by the higher powers that had rejected him when he was younger. And secondly, perhaps more importantly, he liked the air of mystery it created. Very few of the men working under him knew exactly what he did, why he did it, or how he did it.

His room was a mess of odds and ends. Vials full of unidentifiable substances cluttered the shelves, as well as thick leather-bound books that were shoved wherever a few inches of space were available. There was a cage in the corner housing a tiny mockingbird, though the creature showed no signs of life besides occasionally blinking.

They laid Luke on the stone table in the center of the room. Damien ran his fingers over the sharp edge of his knife, a twinge of excitement creeping in. He waved a hand, and chains immediately formed, binding the boy to the table.

"He's a child," the man commented flippantly. "And you really think he'll work."

"He'll do fine. He's stronger than the grown men you've chosen before." Damien tried to ignore the irritation that was setting in as he waved a hand, making strange markings blossom over Luke's skin. He cried out in his sleep. "Now, silence, if you please."

Damien began chanting, waiting for the dagger to turn pure black before making his first incision at the base of Luke's throat. Immediately the boy began shaking violently. Damien regretted not gagging him - it would be painfully ironic if he wasted this much time on Luke only to have him bite his tongue off in the middle of a seizure.

He extended the cut further - no easy feat now that his subject wouldn't hold still. Satisfied that it was large enough, he set the dagger aside and dug his hands into the bloody flesh. On some people, this part could take hours, but for Luke, he found what he was looking for immediately and pulled.

An orb no bigger than a tennis ball and purple in color came out of the boy's chest. Immediately, his struggling stopped and the bloody wounds covering his body faded to pale white scars. Damien smirked to himself. All those months for this one moment.

The orb was a blistering fire in his hands. If souls could talk, Damien knew this one would be screaming at the top of its lungs. It would be in no hurry to reunite with its old body. He turned to the birdcage in the corner. With a wave of his hand, the door opened and the bird flew to him.

Damien pressed the ball to its chest, muttering a few words as he did so. Slowly, it melted into the bird's body. He seized the creature gently in his hands before handing it to the other man. "A mockingbird. Perhaps you'll be able to keep this one from escaping."

"Same as the others?" he asked, roughly grabbing the small bird.

"Yes. All you have to do to control him is-"

But the man was one step ahead of him. He tightened his grip on the mockingbird, watching in satisfaction as the boy strapped to the table screamed as bruises covered his body. "Well at least that works."

* * *

><p>Luke woke to the sound of his cell door clanging open. Annabeth came striding in, an expression Luke couldn't quite place plastered on her face.<p>

"Why are you here?" Luke asked irritably.

"I know what you are," she announced, smiling brightly. There was a pause, as though she was waiting for a response to that, but of course, none came. Annabeth seemed unperturbed, doing nothing more than cross her arms over her chest. "You're a vampire."

"Wait, what?"

Annabeth frowned. "Come on, you _drank _my _blood_. If that doesn't scream 'vampire' I don't know what does."

"I'm not a vampire."

"And you expect me to believe that?" Luke didn't respond. Annabeth sighed. "If you're not a vampire then what are you?" she asked skeptically.

Luke didn't respond. He'd thought he was back to his emotion-free self by now (and he had been, until Annabeth arrived) but he still felt strange around Annabeth. Whatever it was about her that made him feel, Luke didn't like it.

Annabeth was getting impatient with Luke's continued silence. "What is your problem?" she demanded at last. "Why won't you just talk? It's not like you can just stay quiet forever and expect us to leave you alone about all this. You tried to kill the head of our camp. Do you even know how many strings I've had to pull to keep you alive?

"If I hadn't vouched for you you'd be dead by now. And the others are only agreeing because they're as curious as I am, but if you don't start talking soon, they won't have any reason to want you alive anymore, and I won't be able to stop them if that's what it comes to.

Luke groaned internally. "Look, I couldn't tell you even if I wanted to."

"And just why is that?" Annabeth asked immediately.

_"_I _can't _tell you," Luke ground out angrily. "If I did, it would hurt a lot worse than anything you could do." He remembered Kronos' favorite form of punishment - when he'd first began working for him, the slightest mistake had warranted it. Usually, Luke was left alone on his missions, but Kronos often grew impatient, and that was bound to happen soon, Luke realized with a pang of dread.

_That's right. I've been waiting, thinking that your small little brain has formed a plan. Foolish of me, really. _

Luke felt a pressure build up around him, like a giant hand had just wrapped itself around him. _No, I have a plan. I'm just...taking my time to...get information. _He knew his frantic pleas were worth little.

_You really expect me to believe that? Worthless child. _The invisible hand tightened its grip. Luke screamed and writhed in pain, but he knew it was pointless. There was no escaping this until Kronos had decided he'd learned his lesson.

It felt as though every bone in his body was breaking, and for all Luke knew, they probably were. But he'd heal as soon as Kronos stopped - he always did.

_Escape and kill the boy. Soon. _The pain faded, though not nearly as quickly as usual. Luke suspected Annabeth's presence had something to do with it.

She was watching him with a mixture of fear and curiosity as the bruises that covered his bared skin faded before her eyes. "What was that?"

Luke kept his mouth shut. He'd learned his lesson.

Annabeth recognized the defiant gleam in his eyes and knew that further questioning would be pointless. "Well, fine then. I'm leaving. Don't be surprised if the next person you see is your executioner."

Luke knew it was a hollow threat. He couldn't die, though at times like this, he almost wished he could.

He knew it'd be hours - days, even - before someone came to see him again, so he shut his eyes and hoped a dreamless sleep would overtake him. Of course, he was used to sleeping no more than a few times a week, so the effort was futile.

But when Luke opened his eyes, he wondered if he hadn't fallen asleep. There was a girl standing in front of him - the one he'd been seeing ever since he arrived here. "My God, I'm losing it," he groaned. His strange nightmares, ones that always seemed to have a strange way of coming true, had stopped when he'd been changed. Now that they were back, did it mean he was going crazy again?

"You better not. At least, not until you save me," the girl snapped. "You think you've got it rough? Try being a tree for the last...I don't know, 6 years? Yeah, that was _my _tree you decided to sleep in when you first arrived here. I only let you in because I thought you were just another half-blood."

"I'm crazy." Luke shook his head, trying to get the image of the girl to go away. With her around, it was worse than Annabeth. With Annabeth, what he felt was there, but...weakened. And what he felt now definitely wasn't.

"Hi, crazy. I'm Thalia. Now can you get over yourself and help me?" She looked at him expectantly. "I don't know how you're doing it. Hell, I don't even know how I'm here right now. But when I'm just a tree, I...dream, I guess. Of your life." Something that resembled pity crossed her face.

"Well, I haven't seen anything about you," Luke lied. The weird visions didn't count.

"I saw what just happened with Annabeth," Thalia said. "You know, we could help each other."

"How?"

"You need a reason for them to keep you alive. I'd really like to not be a tree anymore. Tell them you're a seer, save me, and then I'll help you get out of here." Thalia didn't wait for Luke to respond; she just—vanished, leaving no proof of having ever been there.

Luke groaned, slamming his head back against the wall in frustrated anger. He was sure he was going insane, but, at the same time he knew, somehow, that what he'd seen was real.

* * *

><p>Luke wasn't sure how much time had passed before he heard footsteps echoing in the hallway outside his cell. His muscles were stiff from his uncomfortable, leaning, slouched position against the wall, but it was as comfortable a position as was available given the fact that he was chained to a wall.<p>

The sound of keys jingling came from the other side of the door, and Luke heard a muffled voice mutter something. It wasn't Annabeth's voice, he noted with interest. But when the door opened, it was Annabeth who came traipsing through – followed shortly by Percy.

"You're back," Luke noted, taking a distasteful tone.

"Yeah, well, people are getting tired of you not talking," was Annabeth's curt response.  
>"Why is he here?" Luke nodded towards Percy.<p>

No answer.

"Look," Annabeth said, her tone determined. "If you don't start talking, right now, they're going to send someone down to force you to talk. And if that doesn't work, they'll kill you. You have to—"

"Alright, I'll talk," Luke said without hesitation.

"What?" Annabeth and Percy asked in unison.

"I'll talk," Luke repeated, keeping his tone level.

_What do you think you're doing? _Kronos demanded furiously. Luke felt the beginning of Kronos' grip, slight pain blossoming all across his body. But Kronos wasn't squeezing, yet.

_I have a plan._was all Luke said, and surprisingly, it seemed to be enough. Kronos' grip remained, but apparently he wanted to see what Luke had planned.

"Tell us why you're supposed to kill me," Percy was saying, apparently having decided to take the lead now.

"I know about Thalia," Luke said, instead.

"What—"

"How do you know that name?" Annabeth demanded immediately, cutting off whatever Percy had been about to say.

"I...I'm..." It was strange to say the words out loud - to acknowledge what had been plaguing him his entire life. "I'm a seer."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Three**

The next twenty-four hours passed in a blur. A wheelchair-bound man came down to Luke's cell, introducing himself as Chiron before asking several questions about Luke. The man seemed more confused by the answers than anything else. He left shortly after, face unreadable.

Luke was left alone after that. He worried, briefly, that his plan wasn't working. But at last, Luke heard footsteps in the hall outside his cell.

When the door opened, Luke had expected to see Annabeth or Percy or maybe even Chiron waiting on the other side, but instead it was a man Luke had never seen before. He was tall, with sandy blond hair. He looked more or less like a stereotypical surfer, but he radiated an almost tangible aura of power.

Whoever this man was, Luke knew he was something more than human.

The man stopped just inside the door, giving Luke a quick once-over. "Hi, I'm Apollo," the man said, all charm.

"Annabeth told me your name was Luke," Apollo said, after a few moments of awkward silence.

Luke didn't say anything.

"She also told me you can do some pretty interesting things. I'm interested in learning more about those things." Apollo paused, as though waiting for some sort of reaction from Luke. He got none. "Would you mind answering a few questions?"

"Ask away. I'm an open book." Luke knew he had to play this right if his plan was going to work, but he hadn't been expecting a visit from a god. That complicated things. Luke just hoped it wouldn't be too much of a problem.

Apollo smiled. "Alright, let's start with your full name."

"Luke Castellan." Luke didn't see why that was important, but he figured it didn't really matter.

"Any relation to May Castellan?"

"She was my mother." Again, Luke didn't see why that mattered, but he went along with it regardless.

"I thought so…"

"What? How could you have known she was my mother?" Luke asked, puzzled.

"I knew her," Apollo said. "You have her eyes, you know. She had such beautiful eyes, before… well, things changed. But she was like you; she could see things – special things."

Luke felt the beginning of feelings of anger before they were quickly wiped away. "No, she couldn't," he said flatly. She'd never had nightmares like he had, nor had she offered up any explanation for them. She had taken him to a shrink once, who had given them a fancy diagnosis and a prescription, though what it amounted to was _I don't know what's wrong with you but have to do something_.

Apollo stared openly at Luke, like he was trying to figure something out. Finally, with a wave of his hand he made the chains binding Luke disappear. But it didn't stop there. Their surroundings blurred, the dull grays of the prison cell becoming the greens of the outdoors.

Luke wondered if he really could be so lucky, then realized he had no idea how to fight a god.

"I couldn't stand that little cell. Kind of a joke, really. If you tried _anything_, you'd be dead before you could blink." Apparently Annabeth hadn't informed Apollo that Luke couldn't die, but the god's voice took a darker tone, and Luke knew not to try anything.

Not yet.

Apollo waved a hand and a few lawn chairs appeared. He sat in one and beckoned for Luke to sit in the other. Casually, as if they were talking about something as trivial as the weather, he asked, "So how did it start?"

"Nightmares."

Apollo shook his head. "A terrible way for it to start. Makes people scared, drives them crazy sometimes. How old were you?"

Luke thought about it for a second. "Four, give or take."

"And it stopped right around the time you turned 17," Apollo said, eyes closed. It unnerved Luke that he could just know that. "But what I don't see is...why?"

"I don't know."

Apollo's eyes opened. He fixed Luke with a glare. "I'm the god of truth, Luke."

_Tell him that was when your mother died. _

Luke was so startled that he immediately parroted what he'd been told. "That was...was when my mother died."

Apollo shook his head. Apparently that made sense.

_What's true and the truth are two very different things. You'd best learn to tell them apart. I'm not fond of babysitting you. _

Luke felt an uncomfortable pressure build up. Not enough to really hurt, but enough to let him know his master meant his words.

"So...seeing the future." Apollo stood up and began pacing. If it had been possible to mistake the god for a mortal in the cell, it was impossible to do so with the sun shining on him. It made his tanned skin shine and his green eyes sparkle in a way that couldn't possibly be human. "Ever predicted anything before?"

The question took Luke by surprise. "I, well...9/11," he said finally. "There was other stuff, but I kept seeing that over and over months before it happened. And it got worse and worse-"

"Right before it happened," Apollo finished for him. "You were in school - your teacher thought you were having a seizure."

"It's creepy how you can do that."

"What's more creepy is that there's a portion of your life that I can't see." He looked at Luke thoughtfully. "Right around the time you turned 15 is where it starts to get fuzzy. That usually only happens when..."

_When a god or titan becomes directly involved, _Kronos filled in for him.

Apollo looked at Luke quizzically. Before he had time to process what was happening, the god had conjured a dagger and swiped it across Luke's face. Luke felt only the slightest bit of pain before that faded away. And a few seconds later, he felt his skin start to mend back together.

Apollo muttered a curse under his breath. "Thought so," he spat. "I finally get someone who could be my next oracle and he's a fucking vrykólakas."

Before Luke could try to defend himself, he was back in the cell, chained to the wall. Apollo was gone.

But Kronos wasn't. Though Luke protested that there was nothing he could have done, the torture went on for hours.

When Kronos finally relented, Luke was exhausted. He succumbed to the call of sleep just a few minutes after the pain dulled, uneasily drifting into a realm of nightmares and repressed memories.

-

Luke hadn't thought he'd be getting any more visitors for a very long time, given how his encounter with Apollo had gone. So when he was woken by the sound of his cell door banging open less than a week later, he was shocked to say the least.

And even more surprising was who was visiting Luke—none other than Apollo himself.

"Why are you here?" Luke asked sharply. He figured it didn't matter how he acted anymore, given the circumstances.

Apollo didn't answer right away. He walked across the room in silence, kneeling next to Luke. "I brought blood," was all he said, producing a standard hospital blood bag out of nowhere.

"I'm not drinking that," Luke protested.

"Believe me; I'm only doing this because you're my last option. My current oracle is so old, she's literally a _mummy_. So despite the fact that you're the scum of the earth, you're the only one for the job," Apollo said. "Now shut up and drink." He tore the top of the blood bag, conjuring a large, crystalline wineglass from thin air and pouring a generous amount of blood into the glass, before lifting it to Luke's lips.

"Drink," Apollo said commandingly.

Luke pursed his lips and turned away, in no hurry to relive the experience that blood brought.

Apollo sighed, like he was dealing with a petulant child. "You're making this harder than it needs to be, Luke. Drink," he repeated, clearly not used to being disobeyed.

Luke only glared at the god. Apollo only shook his head and pinched Luke's nose with one hand while keeping the wineglass to his lips with the other. "Come on, I don't have all day."

But one of the perks of being a...whatever Apollo had called him was that Luke found the discomfort in his lungs did little to bother him. He figured he'd pass out before the urge to breathe would become too overwhelming. And when he woke up, well, he'd cross that bridge when he got to that.

Apollo removed his one hand, but still kept the glass pressed to Luke's lips. His mouth was now coated in blood, and the metallic stench filled the air, but he refused to drink any.

All of the sudden, he felt a crushing blow to his stomach. Before he could register that the god had punched him, or more importantly, that it was just another attempt to get him to drink, he gasped in surprise. Apollo took the opportunity to tip the glass back and force as much blood as he could into Luke.

By the time Apollo set the glass aside, Luke could feel the waves of emotion sweeping over him; it wasn't as bad as the first time, but it was still overwhelming. A small whimper escaped his lips and he felt himself being swept away in the whirlwind of feeling, and then Thalia was there, silently urging him on.

He didn't know whether he was imagining her or not, but he was grateful either way.

When the flood of emotion finally subsided, Thalia disappeared.

"You all right?" Apollo asked.

Luke just groaned; still feeling a little overwhelmed.

It was strangely surreal feeling so much again. There were so many emotions—anger, at Damien, at Kronos, even towards Apollo. And then there was sorrow, for all the things he'd lost, and guilt, over all the things he'd done. And there was fear… fear of what he'd become, of what he could do, of what he had done.

Luke just wished it would go away. As much as he hated what he was now, when he didn't feel anything, it didn't matter.

"Luke?" Apollo said, concern showing in his tone.

"Just… make it go away," Luke groaned. "I hate this. I hate feeling."

"It'll get better," Apollo said. "You're just disorientated right now. As time passes the emotions will balance out; it'll be easier to deal with."

Luke didn't know how much of it he could take. Memories of all the awful things he'd done were flashing through his mind like an inescapable nightmare, and he couldn't stop the emotions that came with them. Luke hadn't realized how much his apathy had been protecting him until now; he'd never appreciated just how good it felt _not _to feel until he was drowning in emotions.

Luke hadn't realized Apollo had unchained him until he'd curled into himself, tears that he helplessly tried to hold back falling. Every time he thought the worst of it was over, his mind found a new memory to taunt him with. Luke didn't understand how he'd been able to do such terrible things.

"Please...just...make it stop," Luke pleaded. "I can't take it."

He felt Apollo's hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Luke."

Luke turned on the god. "Don't fucking touch me!" he shouted. "First you tell me I'm a...a..." The word Apollo had used escaped him.

"Vrykólakas," Apollo said softly.

"And you make it very clear that you hate me. Or whatever I am," Luke continued. "But then you fucking come here and think you can do whatever the hell you want. I don't want to be your oracle if it means having to feel this!"

Apollo stared at Luke. "Do you know what it means, Luke? Being a _vrykólakas_?"

Luke shook his head.

Apollo sighed. "There are some gods who would kill you in a heartbeat if they knew you existed. Yes, there are ways to kill something like you, and none are too pleasant. You...the thing is...a vrykólakas has a body and soul that are split. Without a soul, you're stronger, more passive..apathetic, even. It's the soul that weakens the body, but at the same time, it's what fills it with life."

"And blood?" Luke asked.

"It gives you a temporary soul, in a way. Restores your humanity. Makes you weaker. Though, you're still incredibly difficult to get rid of." Apollo fixed Luke with a look that almost resembled...pity. "Annabeth told me about your...er...suicide attempt."

"I don't want to talk about it," Luke said, suddenly desperate to change the subject. "Tell me more about my visions. Is there any way I can make them stop?"

"I... No, there isn't," Apollo said, hesitantly.

"Is there any way I can control them?"

"You'll be able to influence them, in time, and maybe even force them if it's extremely important, but it's going to take a lot of work."

"So what's going to happen now?" Luke asked, wondering how this new development would change things.

"I'm going to train you. I need an oracle, and you've got the gift."

"What about this camp? Are you going to keep me here?"

"Yes. I don't really have much of a choice there. No one else can know about you, and this is the safest place for now. I'll try to make it more comfortable for you, but make no mistake, if you try anything, it won't be pretty," Apollo said threateningly. "And if you do anything to attract the attention of the other gods, it'll only be a matter of time before they figure out the truth about you, and if it comes to that, not even I can protect you."

"So what? I'm _your_ prisoner now?"

"Think of it as a mutually beneficial partnership. I need an oracle, and you need my help." Apollo leaned down to Luke's level. "Unless you want to spend the rest of your life rotting in this cell, that is," he added challengingly. "And if you make it as my oracle, you'll be set free. I'll still keep a very close eye on you, of course, and you'll have the occasional demigod visitor asking for help on their quests, but you'll be free to go and do whatever you want."

Apollo gave Luke one last look that was filled with something that almost resembled compassion. He pressed two fingers to Luke's forehead. "Now, sleep," he said softly. "I'll be back later, Luke."

Immediately, Luke fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

And for that, he was thankful.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Four**

It was rare that the god of prophecy was taken by surprise about..._anything_. But over the last few days, Apollo had been caught off guard by his fair share of twists and turns.

First, he found out he had a candidate for the currently-mummy-occupied position as his oracle.

Next, he discovered that the aforementioned candidate was a vrykólakas - the creation of which was a crime punishable by death in the eyes of most of the elder gods. Apollo had never met one in person, but he'd heard plenty of stories from other gods.

He'd considered letting the prospect of a new oracle slide. But after thinking about what Luke had told him, he'd realized he could make it work. Maybe. Just maybe.

It was obvious to Apollo what had happened. Luke had depended on his mom all his life, and when she died, it crushed him. Then somehow, he'd figured out how to become a vrykólakas. Okay, there were holes in the story. But he was sure it wasn't anything serious.

Apollo felt bad for the demigod - terrible, even. So before he'd left Luke, he'd used a bit of his power to knock him out. Afterwards, he'd taken in the small cell, deciding what could be done with it. He settled with conjuring a small bed, as well as a refrigerator that he stocked with a few weeks' supply of blood. He left a note for Luke, telling him that if he kept drinking it regularly, it wouldn't be so painful.

After that, Apollo wasn't sure. With a wave of his hand, he added a TV and bookshelf, a few comfortable chairs, and painted the gray walls a more cheery shade of orange. Deciding it would have to do for now, he gently picked up the demigod and set him on the bed before transporting himself out of the room.

It was about time he talked with Luke's father.

Apollo found his brother in one of the godly residences that were located on the side of Olympus. Without bothering to knock, he barged in, finding Hermes sleeping on a bed, shoes still on and mailbag still slung over his shoulder.

Apollo cleared his throat, waiting impatiently as Hermes slowly woke up. "Oh, Apollo..." He yawned. "What brings you here?"

The god glared at his brother, deciding to get straight to the point. "Why didn't you tell me May was pregnant?"

Hermes furrowed his brow. "What are you talking about?"

"About 20 years ago. May Castellan. Remember her?" Apollo's voice rose, and he didn't wait for his brother to answer before continuing. "When she tried to become my oracle, she was pregnant. She. Was. Pregnant," Apollo repeated.

Hermes shook his head. "I guess...she could have been. But I don't get why it matters."

"It matters because if she'd tried to host the spirit of the oracle while she was pregnant, it would have skipped her and gone straight to her child. Her child, who's grown up thinking he was crazy, who's sitting in a cell at Camp Half-Blood, who-"

"What?"

"_She was pregnant!_" Apollo practically screamed.

"I heard you the first time," Hermes said. "But what about her son—er, _my _son? He… he's the oracle?"

"That's not all…" Apollo said, silently debating whether he should tell Hermes everything or not. "Look, I'm just going to say it: Your son is a vrykólakas."

"_What?" _Hermes sounded shocked, but Apollo didn't detect any immediate anger. That was a good sign. "You have to take me to him," Hermes said, at last.

"No. Not—not yet. He needs time, Hermes. I've got him drinking blood every day, but he needs time to adjust."

"But—"

"He's already been through so much; he doesn't need any more emotional trauma right now," Apollo cut in. "And no one can know about this – Zeus would have your son's head if he found out."

Hermes looked torn, but finally he seemed to give in with a sigh. "Fine. You've got one week," he conceded. "But make no mistake; your oracle or not, he is _my _son. If you let anything happen to him, I will make you regret it."

"You didn't even know he existed five minutes ago," Apollo said, "why the sudden interest?"

Hermes didn't answer.

Apollo turned to leave, feeling more frustrated than before.

"Apollo, wait!" The god whipped around to face Hermes. "What's...what's his name?"

"Luke," Apollo spat. "Your son's name is Luke."

The first few days of adjusting to drinking blood were the hardest. Luke was constantly plagued by memories every sin he'd ever committed, and with nothing to protect him from those memories, his life was quickly becoming a living hell.

He tried to find distraction anywhere he could; he spent his days flipping through channel after channel on the TV-which he assumed was part of Apollo's attempt to make his cell more comfortable-skimmed through half the books on the bookshelf-another gift from Apollo-and even tried breaking his own arm just to shut out the constant assault of torturous emotion. But of course, nothing worked.

He couldn't focus on anything. Every attempt to find distraction ended up making it worse. He felt like he was drowning; in his memories, in the emotions—he just wanted it to stop.

At times, he seriously considered just giving up. It wouldn't be that hard. If he just stopped drinking the blood he'd be better in a relatively short time. It seemed so easy. Luke even attempted it once, on that first night of painfully inescapable memories, he just decided to stop.

But in that moment, Kronos was there, showing Luke just what the price of giving up would be. And if Luke had thought Kronos' torture hurt before, it was a thousand times worse when he was weakened by blood. The pain was beyond unbearable.

It had taken less than five minutes for Luke to promise he wouldn't stop, and even then Kronos had carried on the torture for another ten, painful minutes. After that, Luke didn't even think about giving up. He hurt so much that he wasn't able to move for hours - apparently, blood also destroyed his ability to heal quickly. Luke wondered how long the bruises would last; more importantly, he wondered how he'd explain them to Apollo.

He drank a full blood bag each morning. The effects lasted, roughly, twenty-four hours, he figured. By the end of the twenty-four hours, he'd be close to normal, and it only made drinking the next bag of blood even worse.

But it was getting easier, he noted, on the fourth morning since he'd started drinking blood regularly. It still hurt, the emotions and memories were still overwhelming, and he still wished he could stop, but it was easier to focus throughout the day. Half-way through the day, Luke decided to take a nap-he found that he slept a lot more when he was drinking blood.

Falling asleep still wasn't easy. Every time he closed his eyes, he would see himself chained to the walls of the little white room in Kronos' underground torture chamber, subject to the sick cruelty of strange, masked men, or swept away by the memory of some horribly evil act he'd committed under Kronos' orders. And he was seeing it all from an entirely new, vulnerable perspective.

It was difficult, to say the least, but in the end he managed to drift into an uneasy sleep.

_In his dream, Luke was standing on the street in front of his mother's house. It was almost a year after he'd been sold to Kronos. _

_He was in Connecticut on one of the missions he was so frequently assigned. Kronos wanted someone dead, and of course, the job went to Luke; the cold, emotionless assassin. But now, mission completed, another forty-eight hours before he was supposed to report back to Kronos, Luke found himself standing outside the house he'd grown up in._

_He had an urge—a need, even, to go inside. He didn't know why, and he really didn't care. Desires of his own were something he had grown unaccustomed to lately, seeing as he rarely felt them any more; so he certainly wasn't going to ignore this one._

_Luke didn't bother knocking — it had been his house once, after all. Inside, it was different than he remembered; there was a general clutter that had been absent when he was younger. Dust covered most surfaces and cobwebs dangled from the ceiling in one corner, but in other places, there were still signs of life._

_Luke spent a few minutes wandering around the house, memories of his old life flashing through his mind in a sort of detached way. There was no nostalgia, no sense of loss over the life that had been taken from him, no comfort in the familiarity; nothing. He was as empty as ever, aside from a strange desire he couldn't quite place._

_Luke had just finished a quick search of every room when he heard the front door open._

_"What the hell?" A woman's voice. But not just any woman._

_His mother._

_Luke was overcome by an indescribable anger at the sight of her, and it was then that he finally understood what had compelled him into the house - he wanted her to suffer as much as he had. It was only justice, he thought with detached callousness, that she should pay for what she'd put him through. Everything that had happened to him was her fault, after all._

_"Luke...?" his mother finally said, disbelief coloring her voice._

_A humorless smile spread across Luke's face. "Didn't expect to see me? It's only been, what? Two years?"_

_"They—they told me—promised me—you'd never..." His mother could hardly form a coherent sentence. "What? Why? I mean, how...?" Her eyes were full of fear and guilt - nothing that resembled love for her son, Luke noted, though he'd known better than to expect it from her. _

_"If you'd wanted me gone, you could have just said so, _Mother_." The last word came out as an insult. "But I suppose now you've made your choice, and I'm about to make mine."_

_He drew his sword, the blade still encrusted with blood from his last kill. When Kronos had given it to him, he'd explained how the blade had been forged with two metals, making it equally dangerous to mortals and demigods. _

_"Luke, what are you doing?" His mother's voice rose with fear. "Something's wrong with you. Just put that down; can't we just talk about this?"_

_Luke could hardly hear her over the blood rushing in his ears. He hadn't felt this alive in, well, over a year. And even if he didn't understand that, it didn't matter. There was only one thing that was important._

_He was going to kill May Castellan. _

Apollo had learned to throw expectations out the window when it came to Luke Castellan. _Expect the unexpected. _It was what mortals did - not the god of prophecy, though not knowing what was coming next was strangely...exhilarating in a way.

Of course, surprises often weren't all they were cracked up to be.

Apollo slowly opened the door and looked around. Discarded blood bags covered the floor and the sheets on the bed were unmade, yet...there was no sign of his prospective oracle. He narrowed his eyes, wondering how Luke could have escaped, and where exactly he could have gone.

The god was about to leave and consult with Chiron; maybe the centaur who ran the camp would have a simple answer. But as Apollo turned to exit the room, he heard a small whimper.

Immediately, his eyes went to the source of the sound.

"Luke...?" Apollo asked, staring at the demigod who had curled himself into the corner, knees pressed to his chest and head down. His shoulders were shaking, and dark bruises covered his arms. Upon hearing his name, Luke slowly looked up.

Apollo would never forget the desperate, haunted look in his eyes. "Apollo..." Luke said, his voice trembling with emotion. "I, I did what you said...I was drinking blood every day, but..."

The god knelt down and gripped the boy's discolored arm. "Who did this?" Luke wouldn't meet his eyes. "Answer me, Luke," Apollo commanded, jerking him to his feet and pinning him to the wall. Tears - Apollo couldn't tell if they were from pain or fear - welled in Luke's eyes.

"Who fucking did this?" Apollo demanded, frustrated. He'd known that blood would make a vrykólakas weaker, but he hadn't expected it to happen so quickly. Not to this extremity. "Was it one of the demigods here?" It made sense - if one of them wanted to hurt the person who'd been sent to kill the leader of their camp, he was hardly in a position to fight back without further incriminating himself.

Silent tears streamed down Luke's face. Apollo realized he'd tightened his grip on the demigod so hard that new bruises were forming. "Please...don't...don't make me tell you," Luke begged.

"Luke, I need to know who did this. You're under my protection; that makes you my responsibility."

Luke shook his head, trying to squirm out of Apollo's grip. "No...I can't. I just can't." He flinched, like someone had just hit him. "I can't...I can't..." he kept repeating.

Apollo grabbed Luke's face, forcing him to look him in the eyes. He noticed dark purple bruises on the demigod's neck, like someone had tried to strangle him. "I'm not leaving until you tell me, Luke."

"Why do you care so much?" Luke asked, though it didn't sound Apollo's answer mattered to him. He sounded...defeated. Hopeless. "You could find someone else. It'd probably be easier - you could kill me and start looking for someone else."

"Luke. What happened?"

At that, the demigod completely broke down.

"I...I..." Luke choked out between sobs. "I..._killed_her."

"What?" Apollo said, confused and slightly worried. "Who did you kill?"

"My… my mother…" he said, so quiet it was barely a whisper. "_I killed my mother." _

That, Apollo had not been expecting. "Oh," was all he managed to say.

Luke let out another strangled sob, banging his head against the wall behind him.

Apollo let go of Luke's arms, letting him slide down to the floor again. Apollo followed suit, leaning down to Luke's level. "It..." he started, trying to find the right words, "It wasn't you—it wasn't your fault, Luke, you have to understand that."

Luke didn't didn't seem to take any comfort in the thought. He was barely moving anymore, aside from an occasional, silent, body wracking sob.

Apollo decided it was best to stay silent. Luke had to work through this on his own if he wanted to keep his sanity.

The only thing Apollo could do was try and make Luke as comfortable as possible. He picked Luke up under the shoulders, trying to be as gentle as possible, and helped him over to the bed. "It'll be all right," Apollo promised, laying Luke down on his back.

Luke was unresponsive for the most part, just staring up at Apollo with a sort of lost, vulnerable expression, trying to hold back another breakdown, by all appearances. It was better than the broken crying, at least.

Apollo leaned Luke forward, lifting his shirt over his head as he did. Luke started to protest, but Apollo cut him off, "I need to heal those bruises and any other possible tissue damage; just relax." Luke complied, allowing Apollo to push him back down onto the bed once he'd set aside the discarded shirt.

At a glance, Apollo could see that the damage to Luke's body was far worse than he was letting on. Luke's torso was basically one big bruise, and at closer inspection, Apollo found two broken ribs and a cracked clavicle. It was infuriating enough that someone had done those things to Luke, let alone the fact they'd gotten away with it.

Luke whimpered as Apollo brushed his fingers over his chest. He shut his eyes and clenched his fists, obviously uncomfortable, though Apollo couldn't understand why Luke was being so resistant. "This might be a little painful," he murmured, forcing his energy into Luke.

The bruises slowly faded, and Apollo heard cracking sounds as bones were forced back into place. Luke had gone strangely silent, and Apollo briefly wondered if people like Luke couldn't survive such strong godly magic. "Luke?" Apollo asked, worried.

Luke's eyes shot open, wide with terror. "How can you do that?" he shouted, sitting up and trying to move away from Apollo. "How can you do that?" he repeated, eyeing Apollo warily.

"I'm a god, Luke." Apollo was confused. Where was this sudden outburst coming from? "You need to calm down. Nothing bad can happen to you while you're here under my protection," he tried.

"It doesn't matter!" Luke screamed. "No matter what you do, you can't change what's already happened. You can't change what I've done. You don't have to wake up every day knowing you've killed people, knowing that no matter what you do to try to make up for it, you're always going to be guilty."

Apollo grabbed Luke's shoulders. "You need to stop, Luke. It's overwhelming right now, but it will get easier. But you need to quit talking like that." Apollo doubted Luke was even listening to what he was saying - he seemed more concerned with fighting his way out of the god's grasp. "Just try to get some rest."

And for the second time, Apollo pressed two fingers to Luke's forehead, knocking him out into a deep, and what he hoped would be dreamless, sleep.

Hermes was tired of waiting. It had been five days since his meeting with Apollo, and with every passing day Hermes' worries only grew; as did the number of questions he needed answers to. Not to mention the fact that his son was reportedly fast on his way to becoming Apollo's oracle, begging the question of where that would place his loyalties.

...And then there was the vrykólakas situation...

Five days was long enough, Hermes decided then. It wasn't like things could get much worse, after all.

Of course, Hermes thought dryly, there was the matter of actually finding his son. And given the fact that he'd escaped Hermes attention for nineteen years—and that Apollo was hiding him now—it didn't sound like an easy task.

Apollo had said he was in a cell at Camp Half-Blood, but Hermes didn't remember there being any sort of jail at, or anywhere near the demigod Camp. But it was still the best (and only) lead Hermes had.

As it turned out, it was as simple as showing up in Chiron's office at Camp Half-Blood.

"Lord Hermes," the centaur greeted, "to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

"Where do you keep your prisoners?" Hermes demanded, going with the straightforward approach.

"Prisoners?" Chiron said. "I'm sorry, but unless there's something going on that I am unaware of, we have no prisoners here at Camp." His tone was almost convincing, but Hermes knew the lie for what is was.

"You do _not _want to lie to me right now," Hermes warned. "I know Apollo told you to keep it a secret, but if you value your life, you will tell me where tell me where to find my son. _Now._"

Less than five minutes later, Hermes stood in front of a wrought iron door, in a secret dungeon underneath Camp Half-Blood. That he hadn't previously known of its existence was an issue for another day.

Hermes took a deep breath, feeling an uncharacteristic pang of nervousness as he prepared to enter the room. The fact that this child was a product of his relationship with May affected him more than he cared to admit. He exhaled, deciding to just get it over with.

As soon as he got a look into the room, Hermes froze. The sight awaiting him was, well, certainly not what he'd been expecting.

Apollo was sliding a half-naked young man, who bore a striking resemblance to Hermes, down onto the large bed that dominated the cheery little room; and by all appearances, the young man — Hermes' _son, _was unconscious.

Hermes knew Apollo's romantic history all too well, but this was low even for him.

Hermes announced his presence by slamming the door shut behind him. Apollo spun on his heel, obviously shocked.

"Would you mind telling me just what the fuck you think you're doing?" Hermes demanded angrily.

"I was...he was..." Apollo stammered. "God, Hermes. You really think I would...?"

"It sure as hell looks like it," Hermes snapped.

"What happened to giving him time?" Apollo retorted. "Do you realize how traumatizing it would be for him if you just waltzed in here, no warning, no-"

"I'm sure it wouldn't be any worse than you _forcing yourself_on him."

Apollo glared at his brother. "Hermes, I give you my word that I've done nothing but try to help him. But he's...been...well, more difficult than I expected."

Silence hung between the two gods. Finally, Hermes spoke again. "I don't want you seeing him anymore. It's obvious that you've done more harm than good," he said curtly.

"You think you know what's best for him? You never even knew about him until I told you. But you think you can take care of your son? Fine. You know where to find me when he becomes too much for you to handle." With that, Apollo disappeared from the room in a flash of bright light.


	6. Chapter 6

**(WARNING. Graphic sex in the portion starting with _Back on Olympus_. Don't like, skip to the next part.)**

**Chapter Five**

Luke woke up to find a stranger standing over him.

The man looked vaguely familiar in a way Luke couldn't quite place, but he had bigger things to worry about just then.

"Who are you and where's Apollo?" Luke demanded, sitting up cautiously. The man came closer and Luke tensed, muscles coiling in preparation to attack should the strange man try anything.

"Luke, I—I'm your father," the man blurted out rather abruptly, seeming to regret the words as soon as they'd left his lips.

"Wait — what?" Luke was shocked, to say the least. "My father died in a car crash." That's the story his mother had always told him, at least.

"May would've kept it a secret," the man muttered to himself. "Look, you already know about demigods, obviously, so I'll make this quick: I'm Hermes, messenger of the gods, and... your father."

The room was silent for several, long, awkward moments. Luke was, well, Luke was a lot of things right then. But the more he thought about it, the angrier he got. His entire life would have been so very, very different if he'd only had a father—especially a father who just so happened to be a god. His mother would never have sold him, he never would've been tortured for nine long months, and most importantly, he would never have become what he was.

Not to mention all the innocent lives that would have been spared if it weren't for Luke being Kronos' assassin. None of that would have happened if Luke's childhood had been different — if he'd had a father.

Finally, Hermes broke the silence; "Luke?" his voice was tentative, limned with just the barest hint of hope.

"Where the fuck were you all those years?" Luke said at last, not bothering to hide his anger. He was beyond furious now. He felt like something inside him had broken, and wave after wave of bitter anger was pouring through. "Where were you when I first started having nightmares, and Mom took me to psychiatrist after psychiatrist? They made me think I was insane, you know?"

Luke advanced steadily, fury building with every step. "And where were you when Mom sold me to fucking psychopaths who kept me in a cell for nine fucking months? They beat me, and raped me, and tortured me every fucking day for _nine goddamned months_, and where the fuck were you?"

"Luke, I... I didn't know," Hermes tried. "May never told me—"

"You're a _god_," Luke cut him off, "it's not like you couldn't have found out if you wanted to. You ignored us because you didn't care."

"That's not how it was. Your mother ran away and went into hiding; she didn't want to be found so I didn't bother looking. But I swear to you, if I had known she was pregnant, I never would have let her go. I wouldn't have let any of those things happen to you, Luke — you have you understand."

"It's too late for that," Luke said, unforgiving. "I can't even look at you. You _disgust_me. Get out." Luke knew he was taking a big risk in talking to a god like that, but he was too angry to care.

"Luke…"

"_Get out_."

Hermes was silent for a long, strained moment. "Fine," he said at last, voice filled with cold anger. And with a flash of light, he was gone.

* * *

><p>Back on Olympus, Hermes was furious.<p>

Not so much at Luke, really (though there was some anger there) but mostly at himself, at Apollo, at . . . everything. He did feel guilty for everything that had happened to Luke, of course, but he really hadn't known. True, it wouldn't have been very hard to find out about Luke's existence, but May had made it exceedingly clear she never wanted to see Hermes again.

In a way, Hermes had never stopped loving her – not really, so finding out she'd had a son was, well, shocking, at first; especially when he'd been told that that son was a vrykólakas, as well as a potential candidate for Apollo's next oracle.

But the more he'd thought about it, the stronger Hermes' urge to help his son grew. He felt like he could save Luke where he'd failed May. And of course, that only made him feel worse for how he'd handled his first meeting with Luke.

He needed a distraction. Something to take his mind off his own part in all this; someone to blame. And he knew just who that someone was. . .

Finding Apollo was harder than anticipated, but finally, after checking each of Apollo's homes on Olympus and, as a last resort, asking Artemis, Hermes ended up at one of Aphrodite's mansions built into the side of Olympus.

The foyer was empty, but Hermes had his suspicions as to where Aphrodite and Apollo would be.

He stopped just outside the door to the master bedroom, not hearing anything within. For a second, he wondered if he'd been wrong, but upon pushing through the door his suspicions were confirmed.

Apollo lay sleeping atop a very naked Aphrodite's chest; the two of them sprawled haphazardly across the great, king-sized bed that dominated the room.

But where Apollo was asleep, Aphrodite was wide-awake. "Hermes," she greeted casually. "I've been expecting you."

"How?" Hermes asked, but he knew he shouldn't have been surprised; Aphrodite always seemed to know everything that happened on Olympus.

Aphrodite didn't answer; rolling Apollo off to the side and standing instead, not bothering to hide her nudity. She moved across the room with the same elegant grace she always seemed to posses, grabbing up a silky, almost transparent robe from the foot of the bed and sliding it on before turning her gaze to Hermes and giving him a small, knowing smile.

"He really is quite the lover when he's angry, you know," she said, glancing almost affectionately down at Apollo, who was still sound asleep.

Hermes started to say something but she shushed him with an upraised finger. "I know, I know; you two have a _lot_to talk about, so I'll just, well, leave you to it," she said, giving Hermes a sly wink before sliding past him and out the door.

"Apollo!" She called behind her, "Wake up, darling, you have a visitor." And with that, she pulled the door shut behind her, leaving Hermes and Apollo alone.

Hermes turned back to Apollo just in time to see him climbing out of bed, just as naked and unabashed as Aphrodite had been.

"What do _you_want?" he asked distastefully.

And just like that, all Hermes' anger came rushing back in one, big sweeping wave. "Don't you even start with me," he retorted. "This is all _your_fault."

"_My _fault?" Apollo asked, incredulous.

"Yes!" Hermes snapped. "If you would've just told me about Luke from the beginning and let me help, I wouldn't have had to drop everything on him like that."

"Yeah, well if you wouldn't have let May try to take on the Oracle's spirit while she was _pregnant, _none of this would've happened in the first place!"

"Don't try to pin this on me, I never wanted her to try in the first place. It's your fault for letting her think she could beat Hades' curse, not mine."

"Oh come on, it's not like you couldn't have stopped her if you'd really wanted to. You just didn't care. Just like you didn't care what happened to her after that. Even if you didn't know she had a kid, would it have been so hard to check up on her just once? All it would've taken was one quick visit and you could have saved Luke from the hell he went through."

Hermes was furious–mostly because he knew that most of what Apollo was saying was true, but that didn't change the fact. The next thing either of them knew, Hermes had Apollo pinned against the wall, spluttering angry curses and trying to make sense of everything he was feeling.

"I... I never... I mean... I didn't know," he said, a defeated sigh dropping from his lips. He felt the guilt now more than ever, and he hated it. He didn't even want to think about it.

Hermes just wanted a distraction. He didn't want to worry about Luke right now, because yes, a big part of everything that happened was Hermes' fault, and there was nothing he could do about it right then. There was nothing he could do to make it better, there was nothing he could do to change it, and he just couldn't face that.

He _needed_a distraction.

"I never meant for any of this to happen," Hermes breathed out at last.

"Yeah, well-"

"_Please_," Hermes interrupted, though there was no anger in his voice; only a deep, empty tiredness and a hint of desperation. "Just... please, don't."

Apollo looked genuinely confused for a moment, as though he'd been expecting Hermes to keep fighting him, but after a moment of silence he nodded, seeming to understand.

There was silence between them for a long, somewhat uncomfortable moment before Apollo finally said, "You can let go of me now, you know?"

Hermes looked startled, like he'd forgotten he had Apollo pinned to the wall until the other god voiced it. He let go of Apollo, muttering a sheepish apology but not stepping back. Something had changed between them; some subtle shift, a quickening of heartbeats, and suddenly, the two of them were the only thing that mattered.

It was Apollo who pulled Hermes back against him, bringing their bodies together hard. Their lips met roughly, tongues moving together as Apollo's hands dropped to Hermes' hips, gripping hard as he ground against him, suddenly frantic.

"No," Hermes breathed, pulling away and bringing his hands up between them. "We can't do this, Apollo..."

"Why?" Apollo asked, nuzzling into Hermes' neck as he continued moving his hips against the other god's. "It's not like it would be the first time."

"But-" Hermes' protests died on his lips, transforming into a gasp of pleasure as Apollo's skilled hand slipped down between them and into Hermes' jeans.

"Come on," Apollo murmured against his ear, warm breath ghosting over the lobe as he stroked Hermes' hardening length inside his boxers.

And with that, Hermes gave in. It _was _a distraction after all.

He pushed Apollo back against the wall, capturing his lips in a heated kiss as he bucked his hips against the other god. They made quick work of Hermes' clothes after that, both moaning in relief at the feel of flesh on flesh as they pressed together.

And finally, Apollo got Hermes up against the wall, ordering him to turn around after a moment of passionate kissing. Hermes did as he was told, bracing his arms against the wall as Apollo moved in behind him, hands slipping to Hermes' hips.

Apollo conjured a bottle of lubrication out of thin air, pouring a generous amount into his hand and rubbing it over his cock before moving his hands to Hermes' ass. He wasted no time before pressing two slick fingers into Hermes' tight heat to start the stretching.

Hermes let out a strangled moan, arching back against Apollo's hand. A moment later, the hand was gone, and Hermes' felt the head of Apollo's dick pressing against his hole.

Apollo let his hands move back up to Hermes' hips, taking a firm grip before thrusting into him; both moaning at the tight fit. Apollo didn't bother wasting any time letting Hermes adjust, knowing he couldn't actually hurt the other god even if he wanted to; he pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in, rocking Hermes forward with the force of his thrusts.

But Hermes didn't mind in the slightest, arching back against Apollo with the same fervency and soon they were moving in rhythm.

Before long sweat snaked down both their bodies in rivulets, but neither showed any signs of stopping. A moment later, though, Apollo pulled out of Hermes' heat entirely, turning the other god around and capturing his lips in a quick kiss before lifting him up against the wall.

Hermes wrapped his legs around Apollo's waist as the other god positioned himself at Hermes' entrance again, shoving back in with a grunt.

This time the pace was quicker; all frantic thrusts and sloppy wet kisses, both gods desperate for climax.

They came together; Hermes shooting his load across Apollo's abdomen and the clenching spasms of his inner muscles driving Apollo over the edge. As soon as his orgasm was over, Apollo collapsed against the wall; sliding out of Hermes as he slid down to the floor, Hermes following suit.

The euphoric high lasted only a few seconds before Hermes abruptly stood up and grabbed his clothes. Some distraction - he'd just slept with the man who was fooling around with his son.

"What's wrong?" Apollo asked lazily, making no move to get up.

"What's wrong?" Hermes demanded. "Only that you think you can sleep with anyone and-"

"Hermes, I swear I haven't even thought of Luke that way, and I would never-"

"I know what you do with your oracles, and even if he wasn't a candidate, I'm not blind, Apollo," Hermes hissed. "Don't think I haven't noticed he looks like Hyacinth."

Apollo's mouth hung open. "I...he...Hermes...please..." he sputtered, unable to form a coherent sentence. "I would never..."

"Listen carefully, because I'm only going to say this once, Apollo. It's obvious you're the only person Luke trusts, so though I hate it, I'll allow you to keep seeing him, but if you hurt him in any way, I'll make you regret it."

And with that, Hermes left.

* * *

><p>Luke lay sprawled across his bed, face buried in a mountain of pillows. He kept his eyes shut, trying to ignore the memories that were flashing through his mind. The numbness would come soon, he promised himself.<p>

It was obvious that Luke was only a burden to his father. To Kronos, he'd been nothing more than a disposable asset. And Thalia and Apollo were obviously only interested in him because of his visions. And other than that, he really didn't have anyone.

That was when Luke had decided that one way or another, he was going to die. And the first step was to quit cooperating with Apollo, to quit drinking the blood that was making him painfully human. Eventually, the god would realize that he wasn't going to get anything out of Luke and mercifully kill him.

And Luke tried not to think about how much Kronos would torture him before it came to that point.

The numbness came slowly, just enough at first to take the edge off all the emotions Luke was feeling. He wished it could come faster, before Apollo or someone would come and try to talk him out of what he was doing, before-

Luke felt two hands on his bare shoulders (he still hadn't put a shirt back on since Apollo had left), and every muscle in his body tensed in response. He couldn't help it - after all those years since he'd been violated by masked men, he still didn't like being touched.

"Wake up, Luke." Thalia shook him. "Come on, it's been way too long since you drank blood."

Luke groaned in response. "I know." Out of all the people he'd be letting down in some way, the only one he really felt bad about was Thalia. But those feelings would go away soon; he just had to wait a little longer for the numbness.

"Well then what are you waiting for?" Thalia asked, yanking him up. She glared at him before realization dawned in her eyes. "You're not...no...you can't," she protested.

"Yes, I can." Luke tried to ignore the twinges of guilt he was feeling.

"But I need you."

"And then what? You said you can look back at my memories, right? Well then you know what my future looks like - _nothing_." Thalia started to protest, but Luke cut her off. "What am I supposed to do? Keep drinking blood forever? You know Kronos won't let that happen. He'll find some way to get me back, and then I'll go back to being his soulless slave. I'd rather be _dead _than that."

Thalia stared at him for a long few seconds. "You have two _gods_protecting you. You really don't think they'll be able to help you?"

"I don't want anything to do with my father," Luke said immediately.

"I...I came to talk to you when Apollo was here. I don't know how to do it...it just...happens. But when he was here, and then when Hermes was here, you couldn't see me. Anyway..." Thalia seemed uncomfortable. "I don't like the way Apollo looks at you. It's like he thinks he _owns _you or something. I'd trust Hermes more than him."

Luke shook his head. "It doesn't matter."

"So that's it? You're just going to give up?" Thalia demanded. When Luke chose not to answer, she tried a different approach. "You know, Luke, what happened isn't your fault. And neither's what you've done."

Luke tried to ignore the memories that flashed through his mind. Why was it taking so long for his emotions to fade away? "It is, though. I've...I've killed people."

"Because Kronos told you."

"It doesn't make a difference."

"But you know what does? It's the fact that you feel guilty about it; if you were half as bad a person as you think you are, you wouldn't have any remorse over what you've done." Thalia grabbed his hand - he just barely resisted the urge to pull away. "So yeah, you can't change your past, but...you can start making things better."

Luke debated it in his mind - regardless of whether or not he cooperated with Thalia and Apollo, he was sure he was going to die; it was only the timing that changed. Though he supposed if he helped Thalia, it'd at least be an attempt to make up for all the wrongs he'd done.

Finally, grudgingly, Luke agreed. "Fine."

Thalia could hardly hide her grin as she reached behind her and grabbed a bag of blood. Luke tore it open, nearly gagging at the smell. He found that the more he drank it, and the more human he became, the more it disgusted him. Reluctantly, he drank the bag before discarding it on the floor.

"Thanks for doing this for me," Thalia said. Before Luke could stop her, she leaned over and wiped the blood off his face. "You look tired."

"Yeah?" Luke's voice was sharper than he intended. "I'm fucking exhausted but I can't sleep without having nightmares."

"My little brother used to have nightmares, too." Thalia's tone changed at the mention of him - she sounded less strong, almost vulnerable. "Come on, I'll help you go to sleep. Lie down."

Luke didn't know how the hell Thalia was going to help him, but he did as she asked and shut his eyes. A few seconds later, he felt her body press against his. It took all his willpower not to get up right then as repressed memories flashed through his mind - the ones he'd tried hardest to keep buried.

"Relax, Luke. I'm not going to hurt you." Thalia's voice was uncharacteristically soft. Luke wondered if this was how she'd talked to her younger brother, then he wondered what had happened to him. "Just relax," she repeated, combing her fingers through his hair.

"I...you...I can't..." Luke tried to force the words out, though every time he tried to start, they caught in his throat. "They...what they did..."

"I know," Thalia reassured him, sounding quiet and almost...nervous. "But it wasn't your fault."

"It doesn't make a difference," Luke said for the second time.

Thalia tightened her grip on him slightly. "You're wrong, Luke." She lifted his chin, forcing him to look up at her.

"There _are _people you can trust," She hesitated, that subtle hint of nervousness creeping back into her voice, "...and I'm one of them," she said at last. "I'd never hurt you, Luke. I swear."

Luke was quiet for a long, slightly uncomfortable moment. Thalia sounded so... _sincere_. It was strange thinking she -or anyone, for that matter- might actually care about him. He'd forgotten what that felt like, honestly. He wasn't even sure he'd ever known in the first place.

"You trust me. Right, Luke?" Thalia finally asked.

"I... Yeah. I guess I do."

"Then let me help you," Thalia said, leaning down and gently pressing her lips against Luke's.

It was… disconcerting, at first, but something about the kiss was oddly comforting; reassuring, almost. Luke found himself kissing back without really meaning to, and before he knew it Thalia was straddling his waist, one hand tangled in his hair, the other snaking its way into his pants.

Unpleasant memories swirled up in Luke's mind unbidden, splashing him back into reality like a bucket of cold water.

"Stop," he mumbled against Thalia's lips, pushing her away as quickly as he could. "I… I can't."

"You could if you wanted to," Thalia said, pressing her lips back to his. "I won't hurt you."

Luke pushed her away, more forcefully this time. "It's not like that, Thalia!" he protested. "I trust you, but..."

"But what?" Thalia asked, climbing out of the bed and folding her arms defiantly. "It's okay to be raped by strangers and throw yourself at whoever your boss tells you to, but sleep with a girl who might actually care about you - no, that'd be terrible."

"It's not like that!" Luke shouted. "I didn't choose for any of that to happen. And that kind of stuff...it changes you, okay? Sleeping with you...it wouldn't be just...I don't.."

Thalia glared at him. "I just want to help you," she finally said.

"I know. Just...not like this," Luke said.

"I..." Thalia looked down, suddenly embarrassed, "I'm just gonna go..." She turned, starting to fade as she walked away.

"Wait," Luke caught Thalia by the arm, surprising himself. "Don't go." Thalia faltered, form returning to its solid state. She turned, arching an eyebrow expectantly.

Luke stood tentatively, taking Thalia's hand in his. He wasn't sure exactly how felt about Thalia, but he did know she was the closest thing to a friend he had, and despite his reservations, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't attracted to her.

"Luke?" Thalia said, an unspoken question hanging between them.

That was when Luke decided to just give in, to let go. He took her face in both hands and brought their lips together. It was a slow, chaste kiss, but it relayed everything Luke couldn't. "Don't go," Luke said again, murmuring against Thalia's lips as they separated.

"Don't go."

A/N (Eliss): We apologize for the lack of anything in the last few months. Updates will start coming sooner. We promise.


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